


In The Beginning

by Thatsmysky (thatsmysky)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, I put it in this story, Magic, Post-Apocalypse, Supernatural Abilities, Violence, honestly pretty much anything cool you can put in a story, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmysky/pseuds/Thatsmysky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an apocalypse.  Nuclear War, people dying left and right, bad times.  But that's old news.  Now, a family called the Turkeys reign with an iron fist (claw?) and are possibly more evil that they should be due to their unfortunate last name.  A convenient side-effect of the Nuclear War happens to be supernatural, or magical, abilities.  However these seem to be only for the Turkey family, helping them generally control, dominate, and kill at will.  It's a bad bad time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm No Hero

**Author's Note:**

> ok so to clarify, the characters in this work will have very odd names. This is because I got all of their names from that "What is your Assassin Name" thing that was posted on facebook a while back. If you are in the Mishapocalypse group on facebook, you probably saw it. If you commented on it, you're probably in this story. Sorry.

Eagle Eagle bent down, to examine the body lying face down in the alley. It was a male, barely 25 from the back of his head and the spangles on his jeans pockets. Carefully, Eagle Eagle lifted his arm with her pen. There it was, on the palm of his hand: a single turkey feather, carved while the poor man was still living. Eagle Eagle sighed. Another one. This was their third victim in the past 2 weeks and she knew better than anyone that they were only getting started. Not that she could let the department know that, they'd have her head on a platter for a slip like that.

"What is it, E?" Sharp Eagle walked up behind Eagle Eagle and crouched to inspect the victim's hand. She let out a low whistle. "The Turkeys sure are busy... That is who it is, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Sharp. It’s them." Eagle Eagle replied heavily. Standing, E turned to Sharp and handed her the pen E had been using.

"See if you can find out anything, I have to make a call." And with that E was trotting out of the alley away from the body. She took out her phone and dialed the number.

Sharp Eagle looked back down at the latest victim. She knew this was the work of the dreadful Turkey Family, but she couldn't let her superior know that. The Turkey Family had been terrorizing this large city and often the entire state for at least 6 generations and no one had gotten enough proof of it to convict them. Of course their cronies were arrested enough, but they only carried out the dirty work. Sharp Eagle knew that the true geniuses behind the brutal murders were the actual Turkey Family members. But how could she solve these crimes without letting Eagle Eagle know that Sharp Eagle knew so much more about that family than she should? She had been studying their movements and methods since she was very young, but extended knowledge of the Turkeys was always met with suspicion if not downright accusation. No, Sharp Eagle had to keep quiet and follow E's lead in this.


	2. Let There Be Blood

Bald Blood rose from her cot as a red sun rose in her small window. Today was the day her two sons debated to find who would be the new leader of their... establishment. Since her husband had died months ago, Bald Blood had tried to guide their family toward a less violent path and would have succeeded. The problem was her second oldest son, Bloody Turkey. He, unlike Bald Blood, had kept the family name of Turkey and lived up to its legacy of blood and mass murder proudly. His blood lust combined with his not-insignificant intelligence had led to him being one of the most formidable villains the country had ever seen.

Her elder son, Fallen Vision, was more of a Turkey after her own heart. He had a sweetheart, Sharp Eden, who wasn't a Turkey and wasn't interested in violence at all. Thus, Fallen Vision had turned away from blood and gore. He was trying to lead a safe life, and Bald Blood was doing everything in her power to help him.

Throwing on a large t-shirt and pulling up her worn-out jeans, Bald Blood turned around in her small room. The paper was peeling from the thin plaster walls, and there was little furniture aside from her uncomfortable cot and a small dresser for her meager belongings. Sighing, she remembered the rooms she had stayed in while her husband had lived. There had been a large warm king-sized bed with dark red sheets and comforter. The pillows had been soft and there was always enough. Back then she could have had anything she wanted; she was the queen of a thriving empire. That empire had been built on blood and evil, though, and when Firey Turkey had fallen to the hateful faceless foes, Bald Blood had forgone her lavish lifestyle. She had tried to talk the other family members into turning away from violence, but Firey Turkey’s death had convinced them to retaliate worse than ever. Bloody Turkey had been young then, only 19, but he had joined in on the discussions as much as possible. Sadly, without Firey’s determination and impenetrable focus the Turkeys slowly spiraled out of control. Many more of the elders were cut down by their nameless foes until the last of the Turkey leaders fled. Before they left they put Bald Blood in charge and set a time for when Bloody Turkey and Fallen Vision would fight for the empty throne. 

That time was today, and Fallen Vision had been growing ever distant from the Turkey family. Bald Blood knew that if Bloody Turkey succeeded Fiery Turkey, the bloodshed would not stop. Bloody never listened to Bald Blood’s warnings. She had tried, oh how she had tried to convince him that what he wanted was wrong and would only end in more pain. Bloody Turkey would not listen to her; he was blinded by his pain in losing so many mentors to their faceless enemies and his burning craving for revenge. Bald Blood also knew that if she did not do something she and Fallen Vision would most likely be ostracized from their family and sent to fend for themselves while the full force of the remaining Turkey family hunted them. Bald Blood sighed again.

After a breakfast of what might have been oatmeal, Bald Blood returned to what used to be her bedroom. Since the majority of their family had left, Bloody had transformed the former bedroom into what could have been a throne room, if this was medieval times and the Turkeys had a monarch. As it was, there was a new large chair sitting in the raised section of the room where the bed once stood. On either side of the chair stood two very large but relatively unintelligent men in black. Bloody Turkey always did have a flair for the theatrics. No one was supposed to sit in the chair until after today when everything was decided, but Bloody was lounging there with one leg slung over the arm of the chair that would probably soon be his when Bald Blood walked in. Bloody was cleaning something from under his manicured nails that looks slightly too much like human skin for Bald Blood’s liking. Looking around, she noticed a guard sitting in the corner of the room, nursing what looked like claw marks on his cheek. Bald Blood let out a small gasp at the sight of such a strong man cowering, which caused Bloody Turkey to look up abruptly. Noticing Bald Blood there for the first time, he let a leer creep onto his face as he swung both of his legs out in front of him and slid down in the chair until his chin was resting on his chest. 

“Come to see your future king, Baldy?” Bloody drawled. Even muffled as it was, his voice was cold as ice and left nothing to the imagination as far as what he would do to get what he wanted. Bald Blood suddenly pictured herself hanging naked from the ceiling, held at the wrists by rusty chains. Even as she tried to think of anything but that horrible image Bloody Turkey spoke again, rising from his chair as he did so. 

“I asked you a question, mother.” The word was spat out like poison someone was forcing him to drink. “Aren’t you going to answer me? Or shall I remember your insolence when I am finally the one in control around here?” Bloody had started to circle around Bald Blood as he was talking, and stopped directly behind her left shoulder. Bald Blood suppressed a shiver of distaste and stood straighter; knowing Bloody would see anything she said as weakness. Bloody Turkey huffed in disappointment and headed to sit in his ‘throne’ once again. Once his back was turned, Bald Blood straightened her shirt, took a deep breath to calm herself, and looked directly at him.

“You may soon be the new leader of our family, boy, I cannot deny that. When you come into that power I do not doubt that you will punish any and all people you deem unworthy, even if they are your own flesh and blood. But remember this: I am your mother and I will continue to do what is best for you and what is best for this family as long as I am alive. There is nothing you can do to me, no power you hold over my head. I gave birth to you in a time and place of great bloodshed and for that I am eternally regretful. Perhaps if I had not stayed by my husband, your father while he was at war with the many people who wanted to cause us harm I could have saved you from this insane bloodlust. Be that as it may, I have seen what great power and great violence come to. I have watched as this family has fallen from the great and powerful family it was to the ruins it is in today. I saw as so many of my brothers and sisters-in-law fell to the faceless creatures you know want us all dead. No power, no need for revenge, and certainly no violence will stop them. 

“My son, I fear for your life even now. I know that I cannot take you from the path you have so foolishly chosen; but I give you this last piece of advice before you throw away what little humanity you may have in you. Do not think you are all powerful only because you have a thug at either arm, do not underestimate those who hunt you, and above all do not throw away any assets you may have no matter their seeming insignificance. I am not here to plead for my life. I know you will not harm me; I have too much knowledge you wish to utilize. I am here to warn you.”

Bloody Turkey stood still, one foot poised to take a step, his back to his mother. He did not speak for a moment, merely standing there silently without so much as taking a breath. Bald Blood Stood straight, prepared to take whatever consequences vocalizing her opinion brought her. She was not ashamed of what she had said, but she knew her son’s wrath was rarely logical. 

Finally, after what must have been no more than a few minutes, Bloody Turkey walked to his chair and sat down. He rested his bony elbows on his knees and steepled his thin fingers to that his forefinger brushed his nose. He refused to meet Bald Blood’s eyes, choosing instead to look at the large man to his right. 

“Brent, could you please ensure that no one disturbs me and my guest for the rest of the day?” 

Brent nodded his head, and without speaking, strode across the room to where the wounded grunt was still sitting. He gruffly lifted the injured man by the armpits and dragged him from the room as Brent’s fellow guard followed, closing the door behind them. 

Once they were alone, Bloody Turkey looked at his mother. There was no warmth in his eyes, no understanding, and certainly no love. It was as though he was devoid of all emotion, and for a moment Bald Blood almost believed he was. Until he spoke. His voice was pure ice. In that moment, Bald Blood knew any love he may have felt for her before was gone and would not return again. Now all he felt for her was fury. Fury at being unable to tear her limb from limb as he so clearly desired. Fury at her audacity to speak to him with such degradation, and fury at her obvious lack of remorse for doing so. Bald Blood realized from that single phrase Bloody Turkey spoke, that the boy before her was no longer her son. He was a new creature, one born of violence, bloodshed, pain, and intense loss. He was not the boy she had raised, the child she had held in her arms and sung to. He was not the 19 year old boy sitting in a fake throne that he had been when she walked in. He was the future leader of the bloodiest empire the country had ever seen and there was nothing Bald Blood could do to stop him. One phrase and her entire life was changed from what had been bad to the deepest level of her personal hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh cliffhanger!


	3. No Greater Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok wow lots of violence lots of violence. Like, really, a lot of violence. Sorta. Read it.

“Let us begin.”

Bald Blood stood, rooted to the ground as they boy who was once her son stood. He walked to the doors his thugs had recently closed and locked them, ensuring their complete isolation. Turning, he raked his eyes over her frame as though he was assessing a piece of meat. 

It wouldn't take long, he thought to himself, to break her and make her kneel. Minutes at best, hardly worth it. No, this will have to take time. She will be an example and for that I need precision and I need time. Where did I put that knife?   
Bloody Turkey strode to a small cabinet behind his throne. Bald Blood’s eyes widened in terror, the first emotion she had involuntarily shown all day. She knew that cabinet. She knew what had been kept behind its dark wood door and she could well imagine what was kept there now. She tried to set her face into a more neutral expression, but she knew it wasn’t working. Bloody opened that small dreaded door in the wall and pulled out a sickeningly long curved knife. Its hilt was dark red wrapped leather and the blade was dark ashen silver that drew Bald Blood’s eyes no matter how hard she tried to walk away. 

Bloody Turkey walked around his chair slowly, savoring the look on the face of the woman before him. She was no longer his mother; she wasn’t even someone he knew. She was a means to reach the ends he desired. He desired power, vengeance, and above all he wanted everyone who looked at him to bear the same expression he saw now. He was going to cause more pain in this one woman that any previous victim to fall before Bloody Turkey. He did not let his emotions cloud his judgment, however. He knew how this must be done to send the correct message. This could not be quick or brutal. This must be precise, clean, immeasurably terrible, and invisible. He would not touch her save for the initial connection, which was necessary. Bloody Turkey, despite his name, did not enjoy dirtying his hands. Why would he do such a thing when he had grunts and an imagination? On rare occasions he lost control, such as that moronic guard earlier, but those instances were few and far between. Taking a deep and calming breath, Bloody Turkey stepped forward so that he was directly in front of his victim. 

Bald Blood watched in horror as her former son walked from the cabinet and paused by his chair and looked intensely at the wicked blade in his hand. Bald Blood had heard the rumors of his cruelty; the terror before he strikes, the white flashes of pain as their vision failed them, the resultant quivering bodies brought to her for medical attention. There was hardly a scratch on them. Occasionally she found gashes in their palms where their fingernails had dug, but all visible injuries were self-inflicted. Remembering these victims caused Bald Blood to shiver once again, despite all attempts to remain still. She had seen what the young man in front of her could do, and that foreknowledge was anything but comforting. 

Bald Blood watched as Bloody Turkey looked at her. His face spread into a wide, cruel, mirthless smile and he began to walk toward her. When he was barely five inches from her face, Bloody Turkey stopped. Bald Blood could feel his breath on her face as she craned her neck back in an attempt to keep her eyes on his. Bloody Turkey was at least six inches taller than her, which was not difficult given her short stature.

After staring down at his victim long enough to gauge her weaknesses and how long he could draw out her suffering, Bloody Turkey began. First he stroked his fingers along the length of his blade, imbuing it with the terror he wanted his victim to feel initially. He did not add much, knowing she would not last long as it was and realizing that she was terrified without any aid from him. Once he was satisfied with the initial strength of the weapon, he placed its cool tip against his victim’s temple. Her entire body stiffened upon intact as her eyes rolled back into her skull. Her mouth fell open, but no noise escaped yet. Her arms shook rigidly by her side as her hands tensed halfway between fists and open palms. Her breath hitched in her throat and her knees locked. Bloody Turkey looked down calmly at her face. He was going to enjoy this, he decided. It had been too long since he had had an opportunity to practice his craft to such precision. He reveled in every twitch of her face, every spasm of her arms.   
Bald Blood’s vision flared bright blindingly white as soon as she felt the cool tip of that hated knife against her flesh. She lost track of time as wave after wave of pure terror washed over her, leaving her breathless. She had no control over her body as it spasmed and contorted. Bald Blood did not know how long she was engulfed in terror without control, but she knew immediately when it was over. She could breathe again, in small shaky breaths. Her vision was foggy, as though everything she saw was through a thick layer of very dirty water. She was still standing, amazingly, and her entire body ached. The first object to come into focus was the smiling face of Bloody Turkey. He stood in front of her and did nothing to help her as she gasped for breath. When Bald Blood could finally breathe normally, Bloody Turkey looked her in the eye and placed the hateful blade against her temple once again. 

Bloody Turkey watched as his power over his victim faded. The first bout had lasted a mere two minutes. Not nearly enough. She came round relatively quickly, blinking rapidly and struggling to breathe. So similar to previous victims. As she regained what composure she could, Bloody Turkey strengthened the power of his blade until it would induce ceaseless pain as well as amplify her current terror. Once she finally met his eyes, he placed his knife to her head a second time. 

Bald Blood screamed. 

If the previous experience had been terrible this was beyond description. Pain coursed through her veins as though her blood was turned to lava upon the touch of her torturer’s cruel knife. There was no time to consider what was happening or to attempt to control her body. Bald Blood could only retreat into her most base state and allow her body to survive on instinct. She could still feel everything that happened to her; she felt as sharp bursts of lightning agony exploded in each of her fingers, beginning at the joints and traveling through each flange until the bursts reached her palm and started once again in the next finger. She was aware as bright flashes of red and sickly yellow appeared before her eyes when she could have sworn her fingernails were being wrenched from her fingers. There was no escape, there was nowhere to run from the all-consuming pain. She could close her eyes, but nothing would change. She was not watching Bloody Turkey break her fingers and her toes, she could not see as her skin was filleted from the tender undersides of her arms. It was in her mind. The sensations coursed through her brain and her own traitorous consciousness provided the images, scents, and sounds to accompany her. 

There was no escape because she was creating her torture herself. Everything she had imagined Bloody Turkey doing to those poor victims she had nursed, every possible horrible deed she had believed her demented son to be capable of was happening to her. This was Bloody Turkey’s gift; his ability. Every member of the Turkey family had had one, for as long as the family existed. Some believed it was due to their proximity to the nuclear detonation site. The radiation from the Inutile War had swept the entire area, however, and none of the city’s many other residents had complained of strange abilities. Bald Blood believed it was a mixture of the radiation and the incestuous tendencies of some of the earlier generations of the Turkey family. 

Bald Blood was beginning to shake as Bloody watched her. His eyes gleamed as she continued to scream, and his knife tip drove ever so slightly into the skin of her temple. Just as he began to provide Bald Blood's overstimulated brain with ideas of further bone-crushing agony, the doors to Bloody's chambers began to shudder. Bald Blood’s screams covered the noise, but Bloody could tell that someone was pounding hard enough on the thick wooden doors for them to shudder and buckle upon each impact. The lock Bloody had secured the doors with was not built to endure such bombardment. 

Knowing he had minutes left before someone diverted his attention, Bloody focused all his power and cruelty upon his victim's mind. He sent flashes and waves of pain. He sent the feeling of bones being crushed and skin being ripped from limbs. He provided vivid imagery and impressions of organs failing, needles being driven into every sensitive area, such piercing noises that the eardrums burst. He ensured that Bald Blood could not run to any recess of her mind for reprieve. He berated every section of her consciousness and secured every feeling, impulse, idea, and impression fastly in her memory. He turned her mind into her own personal hell. 

When the doors to the room burst open, Bald Blood's eyes flashed toward the entrance and she reached for the man who had stridden into the room, as though he could possibly help her. Seeing his victim's tiny glimmer of hope, Bloody immediately ensured that she felt as though her outreached arm was crumbling; first the skin shriveled and withered away, then muscle curled in upon itself as each sinew died, and finally her bone turned to dust. She cried out in agony and collapsed on the ground, unable to endure any longer. 

Bloody Turkey stood above his victim, temporarily forgetting why his work had been interrupted as he gazed upon his handiwork. Hardly a drop of blood had been spilt, save the small cut where his knife had sliced the thin skin on the side of her head. She was shuddering still, despite having lost consciousness. Bloody Turkey was pleased; he had drawn this out far longer than he had expected her to withstand, and he was therefore confident that it would be months if not years before his most recent victim could function close to normally.


	4. Mama

Lost in his thoughts, Bloody Turkey no longer registered the third body in the room, the man who had burst through the large wooden doors with far more strength than a human should possess. It was not until this newcomer had crossed the length of the room and was standing next to Bloody Turkey that Bloody remembered. Bloody did not have much time to reflect on this intruder, however, before that man's fist connected with Bloody's jaw, sending him flying into the corner where an injured guard had sat merely two hours earlier. 

Bloody Turkey stayed there, dazed by the shock of being caught off guard, as well as from the pain after hitting the wall with such force. His knife had flown out of his hand, and was lying across the room from where Bloody now sat. Meanwhile, Bloody's attacker rushed toward Bald Blood, who was still shaking on the ground where Bloody had left her. The attacker reached out his hand and rested it on his mother's arm until she was calm enough to open her eyes.

"Fallen Vision!" She exclaimed once her eyes had focused on his face. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? What...?" Bald Blood trailed off as her eyes came to rest on her arms, legs, feet, and hands. They were, of course, free of any injury, but Bald Blood couldn't help but recall the terrible pain she had endured as she checked herself for the missing wounds. Fallen Vision watched her carefully, making sure to refrain from assisting her in her search, yet knowing she would find nothing. When she was satisfied that she was at least physically sound, Bald Blood brought her eyes to her son's face once again. Fallen Vision was handsome as ever. He had thick dark hair and deep blue eyes. He had let his facial hair grow out until he had slightly more than a 5-o-clock shadow, which rested well on his strong jaw. He had a large nose that somehow complimented his face rather than detracting from it. He had dark eye lashes and thick dark eyebrows, and surprisingly pale lips which lined his eloquent mouth. Fallen Vision definitely took after his father, Bald Blood thought as she looked at her now only child. Concern clouded Fallen Vision's eyes, his brows knitted together and his mouth set into a frown. Bald Blood realized he had been speaking to her, but she had not heard a word. Concentrating, Bald Blood finally brought herself to listen to what her son was saying as he lifted her from the ground and physically set her on her feet. He kept a hand on her shoulder, but Bald Blood managed to stay upright on her own. 

"C'mon mom, we have to get you out of here." Fallen Vision said, turning his mother toward the door. Bald Blood resisted, but her son was far stronger than she expected, and managed to steer her toward the door before Bald Blood could speak. When she finally managed to open her mouth, Bald Blood was at the doors, now hanging on their hinges by splinters. The door's latch was nowhere to be seen. Finally, Bald Blood spoke once again. 

"How'd you get s'strong?" Bald Blood's speech was slurred as the events of the last two hours caught up to her. Fallen Vision looked at her sharply, concern still prominent in his eyes, but it was joined by something else Bald Blood didn't quite recognize. It might have been fury, but Bald Blood knew her son to be a gentle man, a person who would never harm another unless absolutely necessary. Fallen Vision was forsaking his family's way of life because of the violence, he would never resort to it. Bald Blood wasn't sure what was going on in her son's mind, but she was certain it would not involve pain for others. 

"Don't worry about it mom." Fallen Vision answered finally, after clearing the doorway with his mother before him. "I'm not sure how, and I'm not sure why. I just know I've gotten really strong recently..."

"How recently?" Bald Blood stopped and turned to face her son. For some reason he was not looking at her, but back behind him at the doors they had so recently walked through. 

"About three weeks ago. It's not like, a Hulk thing or anything either. It's not just when I'm mad or angry, it's all the time. D'you think you can make it back to your room on your own, mom? I want to make sure of something." Fallen Vision didn't wait for a response. Instead, he let go of his mother and practically sprinted back to the throne room. Bald Blood was left alone in the corridor with her thoughts. Something was definitely off about Fallen Vision, Bald Blood was sure. So, instead of going to her room and resting as she most certainly should have, she went to the family library to see if any elders had ever kept a record of the odd gifts the Turkeys tended to possess.


	5. Brother Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, more violence!
> 
> the Spell translates to "Oh elders, leaders of my great family, I invoke you." The rest would continue to mean "I ask that you come forward now as you promised two years ago this day. I am one of the two remaining heirs of Fiery Turkey. I desire the right to control our great family. I swear to uphold the honor our family is due, and I swear to do everything in my power to ensure our family's place in history where it belongs. With these words I call you, elders of the turkey family. I invoke you and bid you bestow your power upon me."

Bloody Turkey blinked his eyes into focus. His room was in shambles; the doors were most prominently damaged; hanging off their hinges by the thinnest strips of wood. There was also a large area in the middle of the right-hand door that looked as though it had been attacked with a battering ram. There were splinters radiating from the center of the door, each pointing toward where Bloody had stood with his victim. Bloody shook his head to regain his thoughts. His brother, Fallen Vision, had burst into the room, temporarily incapacitated Bloody, and retrieved his victim whom he had presumably subsequently taken to receive medical care. 

This rushed rescue had been an act of passion, of emotion. Fallen had be motivated by his love for Bloody’s victim, motivated enough to break through the thick wooden doors of the throne room in order to save her. Bloody therefore reasoned that Fallen would be back to claim his further revenge on the one who had caused so much pain: Bloody Turkey himself. Bloody was determined to be ready when his brother returned. Such rash action and the allowance of emotions to control one’s thought was no way to rule. All Bloody had to do was goad his brother into striking him down while they debated over the throne for the judge to clearly rule in Bloody’s favor. So, without another thought, Bloody Turkey stood and strode to the center of the room. 

Bloody Turkey lifted his hands so the palms faced the ceiling and his wrists were parallel to his waist. He tilted back his head and began intoning the throne-taking chant. Deep syllables reverberated from his throat until the entire room was filled with his voice. 

“O maiorum principes domus mea magna, et invocavérimus te...”

Bloody Turkey’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as he spoke and his eyelids fluttered. When he finished his spell, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The room seemed no different at first glance, but upon further inspection Bloody found that all light sources had disappeared. The room was still lit, but he could not see the origin of the glow. Furthermore, the light was not the usual yellow, but more blue in hue. Even as he took stock of his surroundings, Fallen Vision raced back into the throne room, only to be stopped short in his tracks upon finding the room so different. 

For the briefest of moments the brothers were still, frozen by awe as the room was transformed. Blue, purple, and magenta wisps of smoke began to fill the room, spinning and moving of their own volition, completely independent of the air flow. As the boys watched the smoke dance, the walls changed from their harsh white plaster until they appeared to be covered in lush red velvet. The hard wood floor beneath their motionless feet seemed to shift and sink until it was covered by a thick plush carpet that matched the red walls. The boys finally began to realize they had been standing next to each other in pure silence for more than five minutes without moving more than their heads as this fantastic scene unfolded around them.

Fallen Vision broke the spell first. He cocked his head, turning it slightly until his mouth was near Bloody’s ear. 

“You snake.” He whispered, venom dripping from every syllable. “You don’t care about her at all. She was just a means to an end, wasn’t she? Your own mother.”

Bloody did not bat an eye. He turned until he was facing Fallen and smiled. Not a grin, just a small upturning of the right corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

Fallen Vision’s eyes grew wide. His mouth fell open slightly as his eyes darkened. The smoke in the room, seeming to sense what was about to happen, pooled around his feet and snaked up his body, winding itself around his arms. The smoke turned deep red as Fallen watched. Similarly, the smoke near Bloody Turkey pooled behind him, gathering at his shoulders and along his back. The smoke around Bloody turned pale blue with black strands interlaced among the blue. Bloody’s smoke formed into what appeared to be an insubstantial sentient cape, flowing in the nonexistent wind and moving with every turn of his lithe body. 

Fallen Vision seemed to battle himself for a moment, and took a deep breath. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides until most of the tension had left them. Then, after a few moments, he raised his eyes to his brother’s once again.   
There was no remorse in those eyes. Bloody looked at his brother without warmth, much as he had looked at his mother that morning. His eyes were calculating, cold and unfeeling. Fallen searched for an emotion of any kind, but all he could find was smug triumph. Bloody believed he had won, had beaten Fallen without any sort of fight. Fallen was determined that this was not over. if he was going to lose, he was going to go out swinging and hopefully take his traitor brother with him.   
Fallen Vision took a step backward, and bent his knees slightly in preparation to strike. The smoke coiled around him changed from bright red to a deeper shade and added traces of black and silver, which laced around his elbows and wrists. The red smoke gathered around his arms and his chest, tracing the contours of his newfound musculature. Fallen looked down at the smoke covering his body and flexed his arms slightly to ensure he could still move freely. The smoke moved with him seamlessly, so he shrugged and returned his attention to his brother.

Bloody was still standing where he had been when Fallen had walked away. Instead of flexing his muscles and attempting to appear more threatening, he had inspected the smoke. He held out one arm, and -as though it understood his intentions- the smoke twined down his arm and pooled in his hand. It flowed and moved much like any smoke, but when Bloody curled his fingers the smoke felt solid. As a test, Bloody imagined the smoke forming a large intricately carved blade in his outstretched hand. Immediately the smoke began to move and change color. First it filled his hand with dark brown, which coiled around itself until it was a perfect replica of a brown leather-wrapped hilt. From there the smoke rose in sharp grey spikes. Soon there were enough spikes of silvery-grey smoke for them to begin melding together. The smoke swirled and moved around the forming blade until it perfectly fit the description Bloody had conjured in his mind. As he waved the new blade experimentally through the air, he looked once again at his brother across the room. Fallen Vision had just finished testing the smoke coils around his arms, and their eyes met finally. 

Simultaneously, Fallen Vision charged forward with a resounding roar which was considerably muffled by the new carpeting as Bloody Turkey darted to the left and swung down toward where Bloody thought his brother would end up. unfortunately for Bloody, he was not a practiced swordsman and therefore miscalculated the heft and swing of his blade. The tip missed Fallen by inches and embedded itself in the plush red carpet below their feet. Fallen turned quickly once he realized that his brother had moved, slipping slightly at the sudden movement, and came to rest near where Bloody had been standing not moments before. 

As Bloody attempted to dislodge his blade from the floor, Fallen attempted another charge, this time with a first held aloft and swinging downwards as he ran. Bloody only had enough time to duck and shimmy around his still-buried sword to avoid his face being roughly reintroduced to his older brother’s fist. Bloody then yanked his sword out of the floor and began to slowly circle his brother, his blade always trained on the elder boy’s face. Fallen stood panting, having overestimated his stamina with such close-range charging. Fallen did not move, save the rise and fall of his chest and the turn of his head as he kept his eyes on the threatening weapon trained on him. 

“I am going to kill you, brother.” Bloody stated coolly, his steps not faltering. “Isn’t that interesting? I rarely kill my victims, but you... you are a necessary evil which must be eradicated to ensure my ascension.”

“Jee, Bloody. Are you threatening me or reading a dictionary?” Fallen complained, obviously bored with Bloody’s change in tactics. “I hear a lot of talk from you, but you’ve got that very nice blade in your hand and I have yet to see you use it.”

“Would you like me to?” Bloody retorted, eyes flashing. “There are more than a hundred ways I could kill you right now, and I don’t even have to worry about staining the carpet. But I don’t want to kill you yet. Not like this. I want you to feel pain before you leave this world, and since I cannot use my usual methods, I will have to resort to words.”

Fallen rolled his eyes in exasperation and shifted his weight so he could keep his eyes on his moving brother. He had almost regained his strength, and when he did the time for words would be over. 

“You came here to save the woman I was torturing” Bloody continued, ignoring Fallen’s sputters at these words. “You have a deep seated sense of loyalty, as well as the means to protect those you care about. Yet you choose to care about very few. Your mother the woman I hurt today, and your girlfriend.” The word slipped off Bloody’s tongue like slime. “Sharp Eden is her name, and she’s quite pretty too. You had your eye on her for a while of course, the long dark hair and the big almond eyes... Almost tempting enough to catch my eye in fact.” Bloody’s pace slowed until his footfalls matched his now whispered syllables as he closed in around his brother. “I wonder if she told you yet... You two are very close... I wonder if she told you what she thought of me, what she thought when you were too honorable to make a move and I was the bright young handsome boy who came to visit...” 

Bloody’s words were cut off by Fallen’s roar as he rose to his full height and swung one smoke encrusted arm toward Bloody’s head with remarkable speed. Pure fury burned on Fallen’s face and he put all the rage, hurt, contempt, and loathing into one final attempt on his brother’s life.

Bloody’s only salvation was his reflex to raise his sword in front of his face when he heard his brother’s reaction to the inciting words. Lies, of course, but that did not stop Bloody from being actually surprised when a scarlet smoke-covered fist collided with his silver smoke blade. 

As soon as the two smoke weapons collided, three things happened. First, both Bloody Turkey and Fallen Vision were thrown some ten feet away from each other, where they landed quite gracelessly on their backsides and laid there watching. What they watched was the second occurrence. All smoke left their places with the two boys and was congregating in the center of the room between where the boys sat. Thirdly, the smoke formed a perfect sphere; the smoke still moved, but it was contained within a stationary sphere approximately three feet above the ground. Both boys looked at it with shock, not knowing what to do. 

Finally, after sitting still looking like an idiot for far too long, Fallen hesitantly rose to his feet, watching to see if his movement upset the new smoke sphere. When nothing happened, he ventured forward until he could have reached out and touched the surface of the smoke sphere. He didn’t, of course, but he could have. 

“What are you doing?” Bloody hissed from the floor where he was still sitting. “You don’t know what that smoke can do, that last thing you want to do is... aggravate it! Get away from there, you idiot!” 

Fallen looked at his little brother, sitting pitifully on his butt and taking no chances, while Fallen was doing all the work. 

Fallen laughed. It started as a snicker, but when he saw Bloody’s stricken reaction it grew into full on guffaws. Fallen clutched his sides as his entire body shook with laughter. Bloody Turkey’s eyes widened in horror as he watched his brother fall to his knees, still laughing. 

“What is so funny?” he demanded. 

“You!” Fallen exclaimed, taking a breath before he fell into a fit of giggles. “You look terrified!” Fallen explained between giggles. Bloody straightened up at this, trying to regain his composure, but still refused to stand. Seeing this, Fallen’s eyes began to tear up and he laughed even harder. 

“Brother... could you at least mock me away from the sphere?” Bloody pleaded, eyeing the offending object as it appeared to swell with each bout of laughter Fallen fell into. 

Fallen looked at the sphere as he wiped a tear from his eye. “What Bloody, you scared of this thing? It’s just...” 

Fallen was cut off when his hand brushed the side of the smoke sphere and the room suddenly went dark.


	6. To the Library!

Bald Blood limped her way down the barren hallway, managing to remain upright but only just. The walls were thin plaster, the same as the ‘throne room’ Bald Blood was gratefully leaving behind. The floor was wood, but Bald Blood doubted if it had ever been finished, and if it had the many years of traffic had stripped the oak planks bare. Bald Blood’s feet shuffled down the hall, heading toward the one place she could hopefully get some answers, if not help. 

The library of the Turkey family had been started 12 generations ago by Short Turkey. Short had been a small, rather frumpy man and less inclined to violence than would be expected of a full Blood Turkey. He was the third son of the Head Turkey, the man who started the entire Turkey family reign of terror, so there was little Short Turkey could do to avoid his duties. Eventually he convinced his father that he would do more good as a scribe than a warrior, and the family needed their history documented for posterity. Obviously, his father had seen the sense in this, perhaps because he wanted his legacy secured so his empire would live on for generations, but more likely he didn’t want his uncoordinated and clumsy son anywhere he could mess up an operation.   
Whatever his father’s motivations, Short Wing quietly set up an office for himself in an abandoned wing of his father’s building. The room was not large, nor was it grand or even furnished. Short Wing built a makeshift desk by laying a few boards across two sawhorses. He did not have a chair, for his father would not give him any supplies to build one and Short Wing had no money to buy anything. So he learned to work standing. He would write late into the night, and rose early each morning. He slept in his office, not trusting to leave his work alone, despite the fact that nothing he had written was secret. 

He documented every movement in his father’s building; visitors, construction, and where each family member slept. He wrote how irritable his father had been when he learned the building would not be tall enough to see the slums from the penthouse.   
Bald Blood finally reached the end of the bleached corridor. She leaned on the door as she turned it’s ancient knob, allowing the door to swing inwards. The library was full of dust. There were papers strewn across the floor and a desk in the corner with a book laid open atop it. There were dark wood bookshelves lining the walls, but all were empty except for the shelf nearest the desk. That shelf looked as though someone had put a book there once to remember it, and did so continually for years. Some were laid fla, others on their sides. Many were leaning one way or another, and all had papers and pens stuffed between them. 

The corner with the desk was clearly a writer’s haven. There was a jar, clearly for pens or pencils, knocked on it’s side with a solitary dull pencil inside. There were several loose sheets of paper, as well as an old notebook, all covered in quick illegible scribbles. There was also a nicer notebook with similar handwriting in it, but written legibly. What rare patches of the desk surface you could see were stained several different colors, some from food, others from ink. All of this was also covered in a layer of dust. 

It was obvious no one had been in this room since Bald Blood had been born, but that did not perturb her. The information she came here for was not recent, it dated back to Short Blood’s own time. Bald Blood pulled herself up to her full height, and walked to the bookshelf full of old manuscripts. Her breathing grew ragged as she searched, and echos of pain ghosted through her arms with each tomb she lifted to inspect. Bald Blood refused to slow, clenching her jaw to distract her from the memories. When she found the book she needed, Bald Blood took it from is shelf, carefully ensuring all the other papers and notebooks stayed in their places. 

Bald Blood walked slowly to the desk, softly brushing dust off the book’s cover as she walked. It was the only bound book on the shelf, clearly something Short Blood had spent some portion of his small allowance on. Bald Blood gingerly moved papers aside once she reached the desk, hoping none were vital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand that's all i have so far! If you want more, please please please let me know, cuz I have no motivation otherwise.


	7. DumbAss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bald Blood reads a book in the library and remembers that 17 used to be an age where you were angsty and hated everyone.

The binding of the book cracked as Bald Blood lifted it’s cover.  On the first page, in small sloppy handwriting, was written  “The History of the Turkey Family Before and After the Last War”.  In this book, Bald Blood hoped, was detailed the transformation to the strong family the Turkeys had been before the war, to the murderous family they were today.   _‘Also,’_ she thought to herself, _‘it would be nice if the book detailed how my son managed to place images and impressions into my mind without hardly touching me at all.’_

Bald Blood knew that the Turkey family members sometimes displayed, what one would call ‘special gifts’.  Oftentimes they had faster reflexes, or had a higher IQ than one would expect.  Never before had Bald Blood heard of something as strange as pain-inducing telepathy.  With any luck, Short Blood would have.  

_“Dad finally let me get out of practice to write this stupid thing, thank god.”_ The book started.  Bald Blood blinked.  She had expected something sophisticated and regal sounding, something befitting of the son of a leader of a great family power.  Instead, it seemed to be written by some lowly boy who hated everything.   _‘Perhaps this is merely how he begins, and his style improves are his notes continue,’_ Bald Blood thought.   _‘There is no way colloquialisms have changed so little in the past 90 years’_.  Bald Blood remembered that Short Blood had been 17 when the War started, not even an adult by the standards of those times.  However she could not shake the assumption she had made that he would be more sophisticated than this.  After all, she herself had been married at age 17, and was having children not long after.  Bald Blood resolved to continue reading.

_“The dumbass thinks that just cuz I’m his son, suddenly I have the ability to box like a pro.  Just cuz he’s a pro doesn’t mean I have to be.  For god’s sake he has 2 other sons what the hell does he want my sorry ass for?  Not that I’m complaining anymore, I mean, I’ve got this sweet gig where I get to sit here and watch the dudes go at it.  And write stuff down.  Like, historical stuff.  I’ve gotta report back to Dad every few days so he thinks i’m doing something productive.  But it’s not like anybody’s gonna read this, and if they do, its not like they won’t already know what happened.  
_

_"Another rule, I can’t swear, apparently.  Well, not like, swear swear.  Like bad swears.  Swears that would be censored off tv.  Haha maybe they’ll make a tv show out of this.  As if.  Stupidest show ever. Who would watch it?  Kid sits on bench.  Kid checks out shirtless guy.  Kid writes in book.  Kid sees father.  Kid stops looking at hot shirtless guys.  Father walks towards kid.  Kid stops writing.”_

At that point, the writing stops abruptly, with a slight scribble after the last word as though the pencil Short Blood had been writing with had been hit out of his hand.  There were marks on the paper after that section of script; stains which looked convincingly like a mixture of water and blood.  Bald Blood could not be sure, however, since the writing after that point made no reference to them.

_“The year is 2015.  My name is George Turque, pronounced like Turkey, and I am 17 years old.  I have 2 older brothers, but I will not name them in this telling story book thing because they kindly and thoughtfully asked me not to.  Instead I shall refer to them as A and B, with A being older than B obviously.  I also have a father.  My mother is no longer in the picture, because apparently she...any way she’s gone.  My father will be referred to as Head Turkey, because he’s the Head of our family and Turkey is more fun to write than Turque._ We are not going to tell my father this, however, as he will most likely take offense and I cannot afford to offend him at the moment.  

_"My family... is what you would call ‘influential’ in terms of decisions and actions in the city where we live.  Not much happens without us knowing it.  If you think about it, we’re pretty badass.  Or Terrible, depending on who you ask.  Some people hate us.  They don’t say so, however.  We’re pretty good at making sure no one speaks against us.  Aren’t we cool?  
_

 " _Anyway, I probably should't rag on my family that much, I mean, they give me a roof over my head and not as many beatings as they could.  It's not their fault I prefer a nice hunk of manflesh over a slice of lady flesh.  Really i could have it much worse.  Why don't we talk about something else?_

_"Like i said, my father, and therefore my family, controls quite a bit of  the crime in this fine and dandy city in which we live.  I'm not gonna name the city"_ Bald Blood cursed at this, the name if the city she was born in had been lost for several years.  " _because on the off chance that somebody outside of our family finds this, I don't want my dear ol' daddy getting into any trouble on account of me.  Regardless.  My family = big crime organizer thing.  This city = run by us.  Oh, and did I mention that my daddy really only wants me to write this so his kids know how awesome he is?  Yeah, that's gonna happen."_

Bald Blood sighed.  Looking through the pages, the entire book was filled with scrawl like this.  It was going to be a long time reading this, and Bald Blood's feet were starting to hurt.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO Bald Blood is around 40 here? She had kids when she was about 20, and now her sons are conveniently 19-20ish.


End file.
